by Mae Wood
“Yeah. Western-style, extra bacon, extra sauce,” I said.
“I’ll get my keys,” said my dad.
For now, I only wanted to make sure that the Bobby Orr bio reader was well in the rearview. “Mom? Good with you?”
The disapproving duck’s lips softened some and she tilted her head at me. “If you want to invite someone to eat with us, that’d be nice.”
Dammit. I wasn’t off the hook quite yet.
“Nope,” I said. “Brian has his own thing going on.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ryan
I checked my watch. She’d graduated and was on her way to the cottage she’d rented in Yountville. I was no longer dating a college girl with roommates. And with everything else, that small difference probably didn’t matter to anyone but me, but it mattered to me. I felt like less of a perv already. Maybe if I was patient, everything else would work out with time. Too bad patience wasn’t my strong suit.
Me: Congrats.
Kenzie: Thanks!
Me: Can I come up and congratulate you in person?
Kenzie: All family all the time this weekend.
Me: You going to make us wait until New York?
Kenzie: Isn’t there a poem about waiting making the heart grow fonder?
Me: Close. Waiting will definitely make my dick grow harder.
Kenzie: Ohh … You’re so sweet.
Me: The sweetest.
“Like your pussy,” I thought and had started to type it when her next message popped up.
Kenzie: No sexting.
Kenzie: Not now anyway.
Me: Fine.
Me: I’ll think all the dirty thoughts.
Kenzie: Perfect. Share them later.
Kenzie: In person.
Kenzie: Or give me a call.
“Ryan, we need to talk,” said Marlena. I put my phone facedown on my desk and pushed away thoughts about the phone sex Kenzie and I were going to have.
“What’s up?” I asked, clearing my throat.
“Let’s go to a conference room.” This wasn’t good. We didn’t one-on-one in a conference room. There weren’t secrets on the team.
“Okay,” I said and followed her to the nearest one.
“We need to talk,” she said again, motioning for me to close the door and sit. It was clear this conversation wasn’t going to be short or easy. “Where is your head? And I’m not asking about your headaches. If you need to take medical leave, take medical leave.”
“I don’t need to take medical leave.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But you should think about some leave. Everyone has family—”
“My mom is fine—”
“Your sister and brother?”
“They’re good.”
“Okay, well. I’m glad to hear that, but Ryan, this is a hard conversation that fortunately we haven’t had to have before.”
Ohhhh … fuuuuuckkkkkk. A performance conversation.
“I don’t know where your head is. You’re on your phone all the time—texting or playing a game, I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not here—”
“I’m getting my work done.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t—”
“I’m meeting all deadlines and doing it well.”
“You were supposed to take a vacation and come back all fresh. Instead, it’s been headaches and you being MIA.”
“I’m handling everything. Not even a hiccup.”
“Again, I’m not disputing that. I am saying that we are a team. We have a desk. It’s smoother if we’re all face-to-face. Listen, I’m not demanding you be here every day. You know that. Remoting is fine. But if you’re MIA, then you can’t develop your leadership skills, your management skills, the intangibles that you need to be a senior vice president and then a managing director. And even if you could develop them by remoting in every day, you don’t get to show off those skills—to me or to anyone else. Bottom line, I need your ass at the desk and your head in the game. You have a health issue, fine. A family issue? By all means, do what you need to do. But barring those two things, I need you physically and mentally here.”
There was nothing to do but take my lumps.
“And while you’ve been MIA, here’s a little something that you missed on the von Eck deal—the land sellers started to waffle. Someone got wind of the sale and offered more money. It might have gotten messy, and von Eck was trying to decide if they should move forward, increase the price, start a legal fight, or walk away. And it would have been super helpful for you to have been here yesterday when Shelly called me to talk through options. You’re the point person on this deal. I gifted you this deal, just like we’d planned, so you could step up. You’re not stepping up. She shouldn’t have to chase you down and I shouldn’t either.”
I stopped breathing for a second as my mind processed what Marlena said and what that would mean to Kenzie. That my own neck was on the line wasn’t half as important as what I’d missed with von Eck. Kenzie wanted that land and I wanted her to have it. And it was a bit of a gut punch that I was hearing this from Marlena and not Shelly.
“What’d they decide?”
“To move forward. Increase how much they’re paying. To take on more debt to do it.”
“That’s good, I guess.” I wondered how much more debt they were taking on and if the numbers made sense. Shelly and Theresa were savvy. They’d make the right call, but it would be extra pressure on the estate and I didn’t like the idea of Kenzie being super stressed out, even if it meant she was getting the land she wanted.
“It’s good for us,” Marlena said. “I like it when we get paid for our work. And we don’t get paid unless the whole deal actually closes—bonds and the land sale. But do we have an understanding? You, here, head in the game, stepping up?”
“Yes.”
I’d been professional for three hours and twelve minutes. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I kept drumming my fingers against the chair’s armrest. I couldn’t sit still, constantly shifting my weight as we ever so slowly clicked to yet another slide in the interminable deck.
I knew I wasn’t being cool. Marlena had shot me a few concerned looks, and at a bio break asked if everything was okay. I said it was and headed off to the men’s room where I paced, trying to get control over myself before we sat back down.
Because everything wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Despite Marlena’s warning, I needed Kenzie next to me—or in my lap—not across from me, down the long white conference table. After the break, I kept my eyes off Kenzie as much as I could, knowing that Marlena’s eyes were on me for entirely different reasons. That was my real work—forcing myself to look at anything but Kenzie. At my tablet, at my phone, at the draft term sheet, at our list of targets, at our timeline, at the slides, at the annoyingly bright abstract art that was on our beige conference room walls, and most often at my watch.
I checked it again. Three hours and thirteen minutes. I began counting in my head. I could do this.
When I hit one hundred and twenty, I congratulated myself. Three hours and fifteen minutes was respectable—and my absolute breaking point. I looked at her, finally returning the gaze that I’d felt on my skin since we’d greeted with a strong, business-like handshake in the bank’s lobby. When we’d met this morning, she’d been happy and eager. She’d had a spark of brightness in her eyes.
In her face now I saw my own clawing restlessness reflected back at me. She looked like she was done with the world. We needed it to be done. We needed to be set free.
“McKenzie, it’s been like drinking from a fire hose today for you,” I said, my voice two notches too loud.
“I’m hanging in there.” She was stiff. There was no joy in her voice. It was dull and exhausted.
“Lots to digest,” I prompted again, hoping she’d take the opening I was creating for her, the cue we’d planned on the phone last night. “How about we wrap up for the day?”
“That’d be good. Ca
n we pick back up at nine? Nine thirty?” Under the table I squeezed my fist in victory. She was on it.
“What works best for you?” Marlena asked.
“Is nine thirty too late?” Kenzie asked, and I thanked her for buying us that extra half hour.
“That works for us,” I said, my eyes locking on hers, even though I knew I shouldn’t indulge, especially in front of Marlena. I knew I should look away.
After a beat, I looked at my watch again. We were shit at this. I could feel the pull between us. I could feel her need and mine. Marlena and the rest of the team had to be stupid not to pick up on it. September was an ice age from this moment. And we were never going to pull it off.
“McKenzie, if you change your mind about dinner, please let me know,” said Marlena.
My blood burned at Marlena’s offer and I looked Kenzie square in the face, trying to tell her without words the feeling that had overcome all of my reason: No. Absolutely not. My time. Mine. I get you. No one else.
“Thanks. But I really need to do some of my own work tonight.”
“Understood. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you out,” I said, pushing back from the table.
After everyone shook hands goodbye, I walked Kenzie out. Side by side, trying not to rush, not to go too slow. Trying to get our space right. Professional.
Are we far enough apart? Too far?
“Breathe, Ryan,” she whispered.
“I’ll be forty-five minutes behind you,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.
“You’ll be behind me all right and on top of me and—” She wasn’t exactly quiet about it.
I looked around in a panic, but no one was around to hear her. “Kenzie,” I ground out. I was at my limit. Past it. I’d dropped a spare key to my place in her open bag as everyone settled in with coffee at the start of the meeting. “Key’s in your bag. Text if you have problems or can’t get in.”
I hadn’t heard from her since she left my office and that silence didn’t sit right. We’d been blowing up each other’s phones since we’d met until my work worries forced us to rely on bedtime calls. But now I had a new worry. An irrational one—had she made it to my place all right? Before I gave it to her, I’d double-checked that the spare key worked, so I knew that wasn’t holding her up. I’d even woken up early this morning to put clean sheets on my bed and wash my breakfast dishes, so my place didn’t look like hers. Real grown-up style, I’d ordered cream and skim milk for my fridge and every sweetener Whole Foods had to offer because even though I’d spent days holed up at her place in Davis, I didn’t know how she liked her coffee.
I was itchy and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to move. I needed to get out of there. I needed to be with her. I was still in the conference room with the team, going over action items. Kenzie’s empty seat taunted me more than it did when she was in it. Forty-five minutes. That was the plan. I looked at my watch. It had been seventeen.
“You on that, Ryan?” asked Marlena.
“You know it,” I said with a nod even though I didn’t have a clue what she just said.
“Go home. I just asked you about the price of tea in China. Literally. Tea. China. Go home. Sleep or take care of whatever it is.”
Her “whatever” ran through my blood like ice. Did she know? Was this her way of saying that she knew? That she knew and it was okay, or that she knew and it wasn’t? I looked at her face and got nothing. I was a fool if I thought in any way that the thing with me and Kenzie would be okay with her.
“Head in the game, okay? Let’s just call it until tomorrow,” she said. “Seven sharp. See everyone then.” She closed her laptop, and everyone began packing.
I looked at my watch. We had fourteen hours. Now, how to make them go as slowly as the three hours had.
Chapter Twenty
Kenzie
I stepped into his place and was greeted by a blue couch he probably sat on while we chatted. There was the kitchen that he swore he hardly used and the wine fridge that he’d given me a verbal tour of, asking what he should drink next, what to buy, and what I liked. I opened it up and took a spin through the bottles. Sure enough, there was the Chablis I’d raved about.
I would never call Ryan a sweetheart. He didn’t like to think of himself like that. He was determined and aggressive. He was a lot of the things people complained about me being. And those faults, my in-your-face-ness that my friends accepted and that drove my family nuts at times, they didn’t faze him, didn’t put him off. Neither of us were sweethearts, but that Chablis though … Maybe he was my sweetheart.
I looked at my phone. I had about a half hour and I wasn’t sure what to do. I ticked through the options. Naked in his bed seemed too obvious. Naked on the sofa was porn-y. I knew both would eventually happen. Why rush it? I should get some work done. I should use this time wisely.
And I did. I walked into his bedroom, dead set on pawing through his sock drawer to find his dirty magazines and whatever else he tried to keep hidden. But then I saw the Promised Land. He had a bedside table with three drawers. He probably kept actual socks in his sock drawer. He was organized like that. On top of the bedside table was a hardback book on negotiation skills and a few copies of The Economist, next to a glass of water. On-brand, thy name is Ryan.
Come on, good stuff. I chanted aloud the catchphrase of my favorite rerun game show, “Big money, big money, no Whammies, no Whammies. Come on, big money.”
I pulled open the top drawer. A box of condoms, no surprise. An unopened bottle of lube. Thoughtful. And perhaps a bit hopeful that we were doing something other than p-in-v at some point. And a stack of magazines. I sat on the floor, legs crisscrossed, and pulled the stack into my lap. A rumpled Playboy tucked in there? Nope. The Economist, The Atlantic, and something that looked even more boring than it sounded—Foreign Affairs. Not a dirty magazine in sight. Not even a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Had I dreamed the whole sex in the vineyard thing? Was I in the wrong apartment? I knew I wasn’t, so I soldiered on. Clearly, he’d keep any good stuff in the bottom drawer.
I opened it and made a “whaa whaa” sound of disappointment. More magazines, random birthday cards from his mom and someone who I hoped was his sister, a baseball glove, and about two dozen hockey pucks. I pulled one out. It was signed in black Sharpie, but I couldn’t make out the signature. And even if I could, I didn’t know the first thing about hockey. I tossed it back in the drawer and shoved it closed with a sigh. I stared at the middle drawer. Maybe everything had been a fluke. Maybe I wasn’t his speed.
“Come on Ryan, don’t let me down.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan
I decided not to text her. I knew where she was—or at least where she’d end up—and if she’d taken a detour for a coffee or something, I didn’t want to look needy. Plus, beating her home wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could have that bottle of wine I’d gotten for her open when she showed up.
I opened the door to my apartment and, I’ll admit, was a little disappointed not to find her naked on my couch. But she was here. Her ginormous purse-bag thing and a small suitcase—pink, because, of course, Kenzie would have a pink suitcase. I felt like I was dating Firebrand Barbie.
Hold up. Were we dating? Was she my girlfriend? I set my computer bag down and toed off my shoes. Now was not the time for an existential crisis. Now was the time to get Kenzie naked. The smart money said she was already naked and in my bed. Plus, it wasn’t like there were too many places to hide in seven hundred square feet.
She wasn’t in my bed. She was by my bed. Her back was to me as she sat on the floor, rooting around in my bedside table. The second drawer. There were no boundaries when it came to Kenzie and I wasn’t pissed. It was just how she was. It was just how we were. To be fair, I hadn’t found anything she’d made off-limits yet.
“Found my puck collection yet?”
Her back stiffened and she slowly rotated toward me. “Was looki
ng for your porn collection.” She blinked up at me, like she hadn’t just been caught red-handed.
I laughed. “This isn’t the eighties. It’s on my tablet,” I said, hooking a thumb toward the desk in my living room.
“Yeah, but you didn’t save your favorite porn from high school?”
“Didn’t have any.”
“Bullshit.”
“Not lying,” I said, showing her my palms. “God’s honest truth.”
“You think I believe that you,” she gestured up and down my body with a wave of a hand, “didn’t have any porn as a teenager?”
“Again, that’s the truth. Shared a bedroom with my younger brother. He’s five years younger. My sister would have ratted me out in a heartbeat. But college? That’s the porn collection you should be asking about. You going to open that drawer? Because far be it from me to stop your snooping.”
“I like to think of it as exploring.”
“Get on it, Dora.”
She laughed and pulled open the drawer. I walked to her side, taking in her expression.
“Notebooks and a teddy bear?”
“That is not a teddy bear,” I said, pulling out the small toy and offering it to her. “He’s a squirrel and his name is Nutty Buddy.”
“Nutty Buddy?” she repeated, taking my worn childhood friend in her cupped hands.
I’d taken enough shit for Nutty Buddy over the years that I wasn’t ashamed of him. “It’s not like I sleep with him, but it’s also not like I can just throw him out.”
“So, he lives by your bed,” she said, stroking the brownish-gray mat that was once soft fur.
“Why not?”
“And the notebooks? These your secret high school dairies?”